


winning you over

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Convenience Store, Angst with a Happy Ending, College, Denial of Feelings, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Drinking, Drug Use, F/F, Female Daishou Suguru, Female Iwaizumi Hajime, Female Oikawa Tooru, Female Sugawara Koushi, Fluff and Angst, Genderbending, Genderbent OiSuga, Girlfriends - Freeform, House Party, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Makeouts, Past Relationship(s), Rivalry, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-22 14:26:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: Oikawa does not like Sugawara.She absolutely does not — in no way, in no universe — like Suga.No way. Oikawa scoffs at herself. She takes another gulp of vodka and lemonade — pineapple juice? — with a hand that’s unsteady around her red solo cup and glares down into its oily depths."Sugawara? No way in hell."Except… except that Oikawa can’t really tear her eyes away.





	1. Chapter 1

Oikawa does _not_ like Sugawara.

 

She absolutely does not — in no way, in no _universe_ — like Suga.

 

No way. Oikawa scoffs at herself. She takes another gulp of vodka and lemonade — pineapple juice? — with a hand that’s unsteady around her red solo cup and glares down into its oily depths.

 

_"Sugawara? No way in hell."_

 

Except… except that Oikawa can’t really tear her eyes away.

 

She’s tried — multiple times actually. But every time she looks somewhere else, her gaze somehow gravitates all of the way back to that spark of light in the middle of the living room floor.

 

Suga is dancing. Horribly, Oikawa lies to herself, but she’s not shying away from the attention she’s getting. She twirls and grinds and sways and more eyes than just Oikawa’s follow her.

 

It actually seems to spur Suga on. 

 

Oikawa watches through narrowed eyes as the other girl laughs and grins, her long, sterling hair pulled up into a high knot — watches as she flits from person to person, dancing and drinking and, by all appearances, thoroughly enjoying herself.

 

_"It’s too hot in here,"_ Oikawa thinks. Her face feels flushed and people keep brushing annoyingly against her legs. Granted, she’s leaning back against the countertop behind her and has them stretched out, but she’s not moving anytime soon. She’s comfortable here.

 

Oikawa takes another sickly-sweet sip, relishing in the burn of alcohol down her throat. It distracts her from the fact that she can’t seem to stop staring at her former high-school rival. 

 

They’re on the same team now, by some sick twist of fate — although Suga attending the same university and trying out for the same team is hardly the half of it. And it certainly doesn’t mean Oikawa has forgotten the humiliating sting of defeat at the hands of Karasuno all of those months ago.

 

She grits her teeth in the current moment and forcibly, _willingly_ , looks away from Suga’s swaying body. The heat on her cheeks, the flush traveling down to her stomach, is just from the vodka and the tequila before that. Nothing else.

 

And the sooner she can leave this stupid house party, the better. There’s just one problem.

 

Oikawa’s lost her key.

 

Sometime, at some point in the night, it’s slipped off of her keyring and God knows where it is now. Oikawa pats her pockets one more time, just to be sure.

 

Nope, no key. Nothing but a crumpled gum wrapper and some loose change. 

 

Another drunken college student trips over Oikawa’s crossed ankles then, sloshing beer to the linoleum floor and Oikawa’s lip curls in disgust. She hates beer.

 

She daintily readjusts her frame to avoid stepping in it and then makes sure to aim her sneer towards the perpetrator but the girl is already shoving deeper into the kitchen and disappearing through the door that leads to the tiny square of a backyard. There’s a trail of crumpled solo cups leading out that way, like bread crumbs left by a shit-faced Hansel and Gretel.

 

Oikawa rolls her eyes and then re-remembers her dilemma. No key. Right. Her thoughts are beginning to feel hazy and disjointed, a sure sign that the mix of alcohol is beginning to catch up and Oikawa welcomes it with open arms.

 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop her from remembering the cherry on top of her shitty, confusing night — Sugawara is her roommate.

 

Yep. Suga is the one that Oikawa has been waking up to for the past two months or edging by to use the shower in their tiny, cramped bathroom or listening to hum while she studies and chews distractingly on the end of a pen.

 

More importantly, Suga has a key. And until Oikawa gathers her courage — no that’s not right… until Oikawa can swallow past the hard knot of _pride_ in her throat and ask her to borrow it, she’s stuck here.

 

Oikawa taps her nails along the sticky countertop and sighs. She has shitty luck.

 

She’s been stuck with Suga in close quarters since the beginning of term, has had to watch the other girl at practice as she jumps and serves and sets, and now she’s here at this house party because she hadn’t realized Suga would be here too but she is and God damn it, Oikawa is looking for her again.

 

But Suga has disappeared. Oikawa chews on the rim of her plastic cup as she surveys the room. It’s sweltering in here, cramped, too many bodies writhing and grinding and lounging over the cheap furniture. Sweat has begun to bead along the back of her neck under her hair and her eyes feel sticky with her mascara.

 

What she wouldn’t give to take a nice, cold shower at this moment. 

 

God, actually, what she wouldn’t give to stop having those recent dreams about her roommate. But that’s irrelevant. Her mind is hazy with alcohol and she shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.

 

She really, _really_ shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.

 

Oikawa resumes her searching just as a catchy, upbeat pop song begins to blare over the crappy speakers, sending waves up through her sneakers, through her knees, up into her chest.

 

She’d lost Yahaba an hour ago, Iwa-chan not too long before this — not that she wants to see Iwaizumi right now, not after what she’d said. And as Oikawa scans the crowd of people dancing — just because she needs that key to get back into her warm, comfortable bed, nothing else — she spots a few more familiar faces.

 

But no Suga.

 

_"Shit, just when I actually need her around,"_ Oikawa thinks sourly. She goes to take another drink and realizes she’s out of booze.

 

Well, if she’s going to be stuck here for a while…

 

As soon as she finishes topping up her sticky cup with more vodka and _pineapple_ juice, Oikawa slinks from her position near the kitchen island to weave through the party, drinking up and letting the music beat through the floor into her bones.

 

She might as well dance.

 

So Oikawa lets her eyes drift shut, lets her body move with the song. Alcohol burns in her stomach, turning her warm and loose. 

 

For right now she’s enjoying herself, enjoying the looks she can feel herself getting. She knows she looks good — dressed in those dark, tight jeans that she loves so much. And paired with the white lace crop-top and an oversized, black flannel unbuttoned over top of it, Oikawa can feel eyes from all over the room following her movements. She can feel people wavering between approaching her or waiting for her eyes to open, for her gaze to land on them and pull them over.

 

Suga isn’t the only one who’s magnetic.

 

_"Magnetic?"_ Oikawa thinks skeptically, even though it had been her own thought. _"Is that what she is?"_

 

A hysterical, little giggle works its way up her throat. Magnetic. _"Pfft."_

 

Just because she’d had a dream about having sex with her roommate doesn’t mean she finds Suga _magnetic_. 

 

_"Not just one dream, though, right?"_ Oikawa’s eyes flutter open, her lazy, drunken smile turning slowly into a frown. _"Not just_ a _dream. Dreams, plural."_

 

_"Shut up,"_ she tells herself. She tips her cup back once more. She doesn’t care if she’s going to have a killer headache in the morning, or even if she ends up with her head stuck down a toilet bowl in half an hour. The vodka is good, the juice sweet, the music just loud enough to pound out the shivering recollections of dreams — plural.

 

Dreams of pushing Suga down into that tiny, twin-bed she sleeps in and watching her perfect, full mouth twist up into a little smirk of self-satisfaction, of _knowing_ , because somehow she knows how much Oikawa wants her. And fuck, Oikawa can’t take that look. It sends something dark and hot straight through her, even in her dreams. 

 

She wants to wipe that stupid, smug expression right off of Suga’s face.

 

A little bit of vodka and pineapple mix runs down the side of Oikawa’s lips as she drains the entire thing, knocking it back. She wipes it away frustratedly with a sleeve of her shirt, crumples the empty cup between long, manicured nails, and drops it to the floor to join the rest of the mess — half-empty beer bottles, articles of clothing, glitter.

 

She hadn’t meant to — hadn’t _wanted_ to — but despite the music, here Oikawa is. Back at step one.

 

She wants to go home.

 

Whirling around, Oikawa glowers at anyone in her path and stalks back through the crowd. She’s unsteady on her feet now, but somehow she manages to make it past the kitchen to the cramped, narrow hallway that leads to the front door. 

 

_"Sugawara, where the fuck are you?"_

 

As soon as she borrows the key, Oikawa thinks, she’s gone. Because apparently no amount of alcohol or pounding bass or even showing off for hungry gazes on the dance floor can keep her from thinking back to those dreams — not when Suga is around.

 

And she’s always around.

 

"Hey." Oikawa spots a face she recognizes through the slosh of alcohol in her head and calls out over the noise. "Hey, Daishō!"

 

The girl in question peers over from where she’s leaning against one of the walls in the hallway. She’s closer to the front door, which is cracked open, and smoke is trailing up from her fingertips. A cigarette or a joint Oikawa can’t really tell.

 

"What’s up?"

 

Oikawa sighs, pushing her bangs back from her eyes. "Have you seen Sugawara anywhere?"

 

Daishō’s eyes flicker with something at Suga’s name but she doesn’t speak, just takes a long, slow drag from the joint — her eyes are glazed, pitch-black — and then blows out the smoke, her eyebrow piercings glinting in the cheap strobe lights someone’s set up.

 

Oikawa rolls her eyes. " _Have_ you?" 

 

Daishō’s a fucking drama queen, always acting mysterious and edgy… like she knows some big secret no one else does. And Oikawa hates whatever that expression had been on her face two seconds ago — like she knows something about _Oikawa_ that no one else does.

 

Daishō is quiet a moment longer and then shrugs. 

 

"Yeah, she went that way like two seconds ago." Her breath smells like orange juice when Oikawa leans in to hear what she’s saying and then she’s following the point of Daishō’s finger up a set of stairs that must lead to the bedrooms.

 

"Fuck." 

 

Oikawa can’t help it. The word slips from between her lips before she can help herself. Something dark and sticky fills the pit of her stomach, sliding in next to the burn of vodka.

 

And Daishō laughs then, surprising Oikawa. She recoils sharply, nose crinkling at the heavy waft of weed that follows the noise.

 

"What? Afraid you’ll find your little crush fucking someone else?" Daishō’s oily-black eyes — her pupils crushing any semblance of light — rest heavy and wicked on Oikawa’s face. And her voice may be slurred, heavy, but her words are crystal clear.

 

Oikawa can only stare back at her. Her mouth’s parted in surprise, she can feel it. Her knees are wobbly and then heat spreads thick and nauseatingly over her face.

 

She’s _blushing_ she realizes with some horror one drunken-beat later. Daishō, undeniably, has hit a chord.

 

Shaking her head, Oikawa sneers — infuriatingly lost for words even though several of them burn on the tip of her tongue — but Daishō is shrugging again and winking and then slipping from between Oikawa and the wall and disappearing into the crowd, back towards the living room. A loud crash sounds from in there, followed by a shout and a few high-pitched screams, a cat-call.

 

The noise breaks through Oikawa’s stupor.

 

She shakes herself, lips still twisted up. Half of her wants to follow Daishō and demand just what exactly the other girl had been implying.

 

But the other half…

 

The other half has her turning and walking slowly up those steps. She stumbles over herself and then over someone slouched against the wall, legs stuck out across the ugly carpet.

 

"Watch it," the boy slurs and Oikawa only wastes half a second flipping him off before she continues.

 

_Little crush._

 

No, no, Oikawa thinks and every thought in her head washes together in a pool of alcohol and her stomach tightens. No, not a crush.

 

Those dreams, this denial, the constant lying to herself and others… Oikawa is done. She’s done making up excuses.

 

Sugawara is stuck-up. Sugawara is a goody-goody. Sugawara is the enemy.

 

Those are all lies. And they’ve been growing weaker with every passing day. Tonight is just the climax.

 

And her so-called crush… Oikawa squeezes her eyes shut, letting her tough facade drop for just a second, just for herself. 

 

A little crush… it’s so much bigger than that.

 

_"You need to go home,"_ Oikawa’s brain tells her. _"Deal with this in the morning. You’re drunk."_

 

But she’s already here, against her better judgement. And if she goes home… she knows she’ll wake up the next morning and pretend like all of this had just been a mistake. She’ll put her walls back up. She’ll keep letting the past ruin her future.

 

_"You like her. Just admit it, idiot."_

 

That’s what Iwaizumi had said, there in the living room, her eyes following Oikawa’s gaze to the makeshift dance floor. Following her gaze to Suga.

 

That’s why Oikawa had wanted to go home. Because she’d known that a second longer and she’d have been out there, pulling Suga to her and away from everyone else… and Suga would’ve been wearing that knowing smile, the one from her dreams.

 

"Fuck." Oikawa pauses for a second, leaning up against the stretch of eggshell-painted wall at the landing.

 

_"It’s not just the high-school thing, is it? You’re afraid, aren’t you? Afraid of what comes next."_

 

"Ugh, shut _up_ , please," Oikawa sighs out loud as Iwaizumi’s practical voice enters her head once more. 

 

She slides down to the ground, taking a second to think. Well, think as best she can over it all — over the noise and the high-pitched giggling coming from somewhere nearby and the heavy cloud of smoke in the hallway. It turns the air a diaphanous blue and then purple and pink, stained through with the flashing lights.

 

Staring down at the stained and faded carpet, Oikawa picks at a hole in her jeans with a finger.

 

Iwaizumi shouldn’t always be right. Why is she always _right_?

 

Yes. Yeah, Oikawa’s afraid. So what? Shouldn’t that be enough of a reason to avoid Suga? 

 

Shouldn’t having had her heart broken once already be enough?

 

Oikawa closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall — but the darkness behind her eyes starts to spin then and she feels like she’s falling, nausea welling up in her stomach. So she opens them again and stares at a water stain shaped oddly like a penis… oh no, wait, someone’s actually drawn that over the popcorn ceiling.

 

Oikawa allows her mouth to curve up into the faintest of smiles and then stares down at her hands, at her fingers interlocked with each other and the glint of her rings catching the fluorescents.

 

_"Suga won’t be like her, you know. I know you’re trying to find the connections, don’t deny it, idiot. Or you’re being even more stupid and trying to find reasons why you don’t deserve it. Please tell me that’s not it. Not again."_

 

Oikawa sighs, big and deep. She seems to be doing that a lot tonight.

 

But Iwaizumi’s words aren’t done yet. They come floating back again, sharper and angrier this time.

 

_"When are you going to stop letting someone else’s lies hurt you? When are you going to wake up and see that she was wrong and that my words, the words of your friends, matter more? She hurt you, okay? But she’s not going to ruin your future."_

 

Oikawa smiles. She can’t help it, not while flashing back to Iwaizumi’s face then — all dark eyes and nothing but fire burning in their depths. And concern and love — love for her.

 

"Okay," Oikawa says out loud.

 

And then she’s getting up. She stands on unsteady legs and inhales and then exhales one more time. She straightens her top and tugs her flannel more up her shoulders where it’s slipped down.

 

Something heavy has lifted off of her chest. It may return. It probably will sometime, like when she’s having a shitty day with her knee or she just has too much time to think.

 

But for right now she feels… better. Still drunk and fuming secretly at Daishō’s arrogance, but steadier.

 

A flash of Suga’s face — of that sly smile and those knowing eyes, of her pretty mouth — spurs Oikawa on. She’s walking farther down the hall, only half-worried about whether Daishō’s right and Suga is hooking up with someone.

 

She’s more preoccupied in wondering if all of those teasing quips, all of the lingering glances and that time Suga had put a blanket over her when she’d fallen asleep at her desk, had just been Suga trying to be a good roommate, a friend… or if Oikawa’s been reading the signs right and the tension between them _has_ been real, building higher every day.

 

Iwaizumi is right. She’s an idiot.

 

But something in the universe must be watching out for her — two pieces must be clicking together — because the next moment Oikawa is turning the corner that leads past the bathroom and… there she is.

 

Suga doesn’t see her at first. She’s staring down at her phone, the artificial glow highlighting the long length of her eyelashes. The luminescence spreads farther down her face, showing off the curve of her lips and the wispy strands of silver hair that have escaped from her hair-tie and that frame her face.

 

Oikawa’s heart gives a startled jump but she keeps moving, her sneakers silent over thick carpet. Her mouth is suddenly dry and her hands feel cold and she hopes Iwaizumi is proud of her, wherever the fuck she is.

 

Suga doesn’t see Oikawa until Oikawa is right next to her and only then do her eyes flicker up. Surprise flashes sharp and heavy over her face when she sees who it is.

 

Oikawa resists the urge to grin — she likes that look on Suga’s face, some part of her realizes belatedly. Suga’s so often composed and calm — always easy to flash sweet smiles to strangers and greet Oikawa cheerily every morning — that this look is refreshing. 

 

This look is one Oikawa could get used to. It makes Suga’s eyes so pretty — wide and dark. But it passes quickly, much to Oikawa’s chagrin.

 

"Hey," Suga says. She turns her phone off, slips it into a pocket of the jeans she has on, and crosses her arms over her chest. Her beauty mark is hidden in the shadows covering one half of her face, but Oikawa is unusually aware of it on some distracted level of being more than tipsy.

 

_"Play it like you always do,"_ she tells herself quickly. Just because she’s taking a huge leap here doesn’t mean Oikawa is comfortable putting her full guard down yet. She’s still herself — proud, arrogant maybe to a point.

 

She’s still careful.

 

She leans against the wall, her face set into a practiced look of nonchalance. It’s hard, she’ll admit that much. Suga is wearing a black, high-necked, long-sleeved top that Oikawa can see now is very, very sheer, a black bra showing underneath, and suddenly Oikawa’s tongue is heavy in her mouth.

 

But she manages to get out a "Hi," that sounds normal.

 

If she’s being awkward, Suga doesn’t seem to notice. She only studies Oikawa’s face a beat longer and then nods towards the bathroom door.

 

"Are you waiting too?" she asks. There’s something careful about her voice, something Oikawa can’t quite put her finger on until she’s staring at the thin sheen of lipgloss over Suga’s mouth and realizing that it’s a sort of politeness she can hear. 

 

Suga is being just as careful.

 

With a pang in her ribcage, Oikawa realizes it’s because of her. How she’s acted. How she’s acting now — cool and indifferent even if her usual sneer is gone.

 

So she gives Suga the truth.

 

"No," Oikawa says. Her back itches. There’s sweat trailing down her spine, both from the heat in the house and from Suga’s proximity. Why had she thought it’d be a good idea to stand this close to begin with? 

 

Not to mention that Suga smells like strawberries or cherries — Oikawa can’t really tell — and it’s making the room spin.

 

One of Suga’s eyebrows raises at Oikawa’s answer. Her nails curve a little tighter into the thin, mesh sleeves of her top, enough to be noticeable.

 

"Oh," she says, trailing off. Silence falls between the two of them and Oikawa’s thoughts wander.

 

_"There’re black flecks in her eyes,"_ the drunken part of her mind notices, studying the slivers of ebony inlaid into honey-gold. _"God."_

 

"I was looking for you actually."

 

As soon as the sentence leaves Oikawa’s mouth she wants to snatch it back. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud and suddenly she feels… vulnerable. It sets her teeth on edge.

 

But it’s too late.

 

Now _both_ of Suga’s eyebrows are raised and her arms loosen a little from around her and she stands a little straighter. The hall they’re in is dim, but Oikawa can still see the high flush on Suga’s cheeks and she wonders if it’s just the alcohol or from what she’s said.

 

A few beats of silence — broken only by the thump of bass from downstairs and the creak of the floorboards — filter by, slow and agonizing. Oikawa is holding her breath she realizes. Her skin is hot and the taste of pineapple juice lies sticky and cloying in the back of her mouth.

 

A few more moments pass. Or maybe it just seems that way because every nerve in Oikawa’s body is stretched too thin right now.

 

_"Never mind,"_ she nearly says, hoping that maybe Suga is drunker than she is and will forget all of this tomorrow morning because God, this is _not_ how Oikawa had been expecting the night to go and maybe this has been a mistake, doing this right now. Maybe she should’ve waited until the morning to deal with her sudden resolution to stop running from her past and -

 

A _smile_ lights up Suga’s face. A slow, sultry, _knowing_ smile that sends Oikawa’s stomach straight down to her shoes.

 

"Why?"

 

That’s a dangerous question. Suga knows it. Oikawa knows it. But Suga asks it anyway.

 

And Oikawa knows what she could do. 

 

She could tell Suga she’s lost her key, that she needs to borrow hers so she can go home. She could watch those words wipe that smile straight off of Suga’s face and she could rest assured that Suga would stop trying to get close to her, that tonight would be the final straw. 

 

Oikawa could rest assured that her heart wouldn’t be broken again because she wouldn’t give anyone the chance to even get close to it. She’d knock them all down and walk away, starting with Sugawara.

 

But she could also do something else. Something better — even if it might take time and patience and could possibly end before it ever began.

 

But better.

 

Because she could wipe that stupid, smug grin right off of Suga’s face in a much more satisfying way. It’s already driving her crazy and it’s barely there, barely curving up the corners of Suga’s distracting mouth.

 

Oikawa draws herself up to her full height, leaning over Suga and stepping that barest bit closer so that she can feel the heat coming off of her skin. She can smell something else now, over the strawberries or cherries or whatever the fuck it is, and it smells like whiskey.

 

And she watches and waits — waits for Suga’s eyes to flicker up to her face to accommodate for how close they are, waits for her to uncross her arms and let them fall to her sides, watches her pupils dilate slowly and her mouth part just the tiniest bit.

 

"Because," Oikawa purrs then, thanking alcohol for loosening her tongue enough to follow through with what she’s going to say next, "I want you."

 

It’s _priceless_.

 

So, so priceless to watch Suga’s jaw drop; to see the faint blush on her face flare deep and hot and her eyes widen considerably, her mouth struggling to form words.

 

Oikawa likes winning and right now, watching Suga’s face, she certainly feels like that’s what she’s doing. That look of surprise is back again and doubly as enjoyable this time. 

 

God, it makes Suga’s face that much more gorgeous — those big, dark eyes, like a deer caught in headlights.

 

Oikawa wants to wring more expressions like that out of her.

 

She lets Suga struggle for just a little bit more before she grins outright and leans closer, absolutely relishing in the sharp intake of breath Suga gives — and that damned smile is gone, wiped clear off.

 

"Just kidding," Oikawa drawls. She doesn’t bother to hide the fact now that she can’t stop staring at Suga’s mouth, at her pink lips and that swipe of tongue when Suga licks them quickly. She probably wouldn’t be able to look away anyway — the alcohol is really starting to set in, crumbling her inhibitions and making her dizzy and she’s not sure how much longer she can keep up this game, whatever it is, between them.

 

It’s been going on too long and tonight… whether it had been Iwaizumi cornering her in the kitchen and making her see sense or Daishō’s unusual knack for noticing things even over being stoned, Oikawa isn’t sure. But it’s all turned this game in a new direction, that’s for sure.

 

Suga suddenly has a hand on one of Oikawa’s elbows — is suddenly completely up in Oikawa’s face and all Oikawa can see is the gleam of Suga’s resurrected grin in the dim, smoky hallway. 

 

It stops every thought in Oikawa’s head automatically, besides one.

 

_"Fuck."_ It’s her turn to inhale. And she wonders, not for the first time, how she had gone from wanting to go home to here — and how Suga can tip the scales so easily. Oikawa’s never met anyone like her… someone who gives as much as she gets.

 

It makes her skin crawl with heat, has her biting into her lower lip hard, heavy eyes flickering back down to Suga’s full, glossy mouth.

 

But then the bathroom door is opening up behind them, light flooding over the carpet in a sickly, yellow pool. Someone — a stranger — stumbles out, rubbing his eyes and then disappearing down the hall in the other direction.

 

For a moment, the two of them hover, hidden away in this little space of shadows. Suga’s eyes haven’t left Oikawa’s face for a moment.

 

And they don’t waver, not even when Suga leans up, close, closer, until her lips brush against the shell of Oikawa’s ear and Oikawa is shuddering, curling her fingers into hard fists at her sides until her nails bite into her palms.

 

"Are you sure?"

 

Suga’s breath is hot. Her voice is low. Oikawa wants so much she can’t think straight, but she knows what Suga is asking.

 

_Are you sure? Are you sure you’re just kidding?_

 

And that one, simple word leaves Oikawa’s mouth again, before she can stop it.

 

"No," she breathes.

 

Suga tastes like whiskey and something sweeter. Oikawa kisses her before she can think about what she’s doing but it doesn’t matter because Suga meets her halfway as Oikawa turns her face to catch the other girl’s mouth with hers.

 

Her mouth is soft, so soft, and warm. Oikawa hears herself make a noise against Suga’s lips even as her nerves short-circuit, her entire world narrowing down to this and only this, desire flooding hot and thick over her skin.

 

And she ignores the smile she can feel pressed to her lips, the smile that Suga is wearing, because she knows how to make it disappear again, easy… and because she hadn’t truly realized how much she’s wanted this until just now.

 

Oikawa kisses Suga with a desperateness she hasn’t felt in a long time. She reaches blindly in front of her for her roommate and finds Suga’s arms, covered in that lace-like mesh. It feels paper-thin beneath her fingers, scratchy, but Suga’s skin is hot underneath and Oikawa feels her way up to the other girl’s neck, wrapping both hands around her nape and pulling her up so she doesn’t have to bend down as much.

 

And God, Suga’s mouth is doing things to her, moving deep and hurried across her own. Her fingers are winding deliciously tight in Oikawa’s hair and Oikawa can taste cherries, Suga’s lipgloss smearing between them, her tongue suddenly prodding at the seam of Oikawa’s lips.

 

Oikawa retaliates, pushing her back into the wall and biting at Suga’s lower lip, nipping and then sucking hard enough that Suga gasps audibly in the deserted hallway. The kiss breaks.

 

Suga pulls back, staring up at Oikawa with pupils that are blown, swallowing up her irises, and Oikawa just barely manages to reign herself in from claiming her mouth again. She’s burning. She wants to see what kinds of noises she can pull from Suga, wants to know _exactly_ what to do to get Suga to drop her self-satisfied grin and just let go.

 

She wonders if Suga’s ever dreamed of her.

 

"Ouch," Suga whines half-heartedly, her tongue darting out to swipe over the sore spot, and it does things to Oikawa’s stomach, knotting it up hard enough she can’t breathe.

 

"Too much?" Oikawa smirks over the pitiful thumping of her heart to distract herself, feeling for all the world like she’s in one of her dreams. This can’t actually be happening. Maybe she had drank too much and she’s actually passed out on the floor somewhere and any second now Iwaizumi will be shaking her awake and dragging her home.

 

But no, Suga’s here. Suga — her roommate, her teammate — is hooking a finger in the choker around Oikawa’s neck and licking her lips, a dare in her eyes, and she’s crowding back into Oikawa’s space and wearing victory on her face. 

 

"Hardly," she purrs.

 

Oikawa scoffs and then tips forward, pushing Suga back into the wall with a thud, grinning wickedly when Suga catches her breath again. The music below them pounds up through the floorboards. Suga’s hand drops from Oikawa’s neck to trace cool fingers down her collarbones, her eyes following the movement as if hypnotized.

 

Oikawa understands the feeling.

 

But she leans down, seeing her opening, and runs her tongue across the shell of Suga’s ear on a whim, grazing it with her teeth and holding on tight to the dip her stomach gives at the perfect, little noise that Suga gives her in return. 

 

There’s no way she’s losing this round.

 

Their mouths meet again, messy with the rush of alcohol through their veins, Suga’s hands wandering to crush the front of Oikawa’s lace top between her fingers. Oikawa battles for dominance and wins, pushing deep into Suga’s hot, sweet mouth to lick the bitterness of whiskey away. She keeps her hands wrapped around the back of Suga’s neck, fingers just edging up into that soft, soft hair, keeping Suga’s head steady even as her own spins.

 

But Oikawa knows a few things for sure, crowded there up against Suga in the tiny hallway with Suga’s hands setting her body on fire.

 

There’s no _way_ she’s letting Suga get away with this — turning Oikawa’s world upside-down with a simple word. And there’s no way in any universe that Oikawa’s going to let Suga keep grinning like that — like she knows just how much Oikawa wants her and she’s challenging her to prove it.

 

Because Suga can’t win… but Oikawa’s been wrong before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still debating on doing a continuation of this fic so if you'd like to see a part two, feel free to comment below!! And don't be afraid to lmk what you'd like to see!
> 
> As always, you can visit my blog [here](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/) ♥


	2. Chapter 2

Oikawa shivers. She tugs her windbreaker tighter around her, shovers her bare hands down into the pockets. Her knee twinges but she doesn’t slow down, walking quickly with her thin hood pulled up over her head. 

 

The forecast for tonight is extremely shitty and the last thing she wants is to get stuck in a sudden rainstorm on the way home from practice.

 

Keeping her pace, Oikawa shifts her duffel farther up on her shoulder. Campus is crowded — students scurrying back and forth from late-night classes like rats in the shadows. Some of the smart ones are carrying umbrellas on straps around their wrists. Others are jogging, desperate to get inside and away from the vicious wind.

 

And above all of their heads, storm clouds continue to accumulate and thicken. The air feels electric, like Oikawa could reach out and touch a metal streetlamp and feel the energy rushing down into the ground.

 

Her phone pings in her pocket.

 

_"Probably Iwa-chan,"_ she thinks. _"Or Suga, but she should be sleeping."_

 

Deciding that it actually could be Suga — maybe asking Oikawa to stop by one of the corner stores and grab something — she fishes it out of the right pocket of her trainers. Just in case.

 

It’s not. It’s a campus-wide alert about the incoming weather.

 

"Perfect," Oikawa mutters, shoving the device back down into her pants. She dodges a biker and then half-jogs down the remaining block to her dorm complex. The wind is beginning to howl around the university buildings, making banners snap and structures creak and groan. A few droplets of rain fall to dot the concrete sidewalk.

 

By the time Oikawa swipes her card and gets inside the lobby, her bangs have escaped her bobby pin and are sticking in her eyelashes and her phone is dinging again. She ignores it.

 

_"I just want a shower,"_ she thinks sullenly, blowing her hair off of her face and scrubbing a hand over her eyes. The sweat from practice has dried now, cold and sticky along her spine and under her sports bra. She wants to peel her clothes off and stand under hot water and then crawl into bed in her underwear. And then pass out for the next nine hours.

 

Which she can afford to do, thank God. Tomorrow’s Saturday and practice isn’t until late in the evening. She doesn’t have any assignments pending either. Her hard work at the library last night had paid off — two essays done and an hour-long quiz finished. 

 

Holding that comfort close to her, Oikawa punches the up switch for the elevator and then waits for it to trundle down to the ground level. She stares at her face in the reflective surface on the inside once it reaches, hitting the glowing three button on the wall and leaning back against the railing.

 

_"I should really trim these."_ Her bangs have grown out a little, ducking beneath her eyebrows so that it’s hard to keep them down all the time like she usually does. Her face is free of makeup and flushed from the wind and her ponytail looks knotted.

 

Pursing her lips, Oikawa makes a face at herself and then the elevator is dinging and the doors are opening up onto a brightly-lit, narrow hall with rows of doors on either side.

 

Humming under her breath, Oikawa trudges down to the end — passing colorful paper flyers and doors covered in everything ranging from name-tags to hand-drawn cards — until she reaches Room 311 with its tiny bathroom opposite it in the little alcove. She gets her key in the lock — honestly, they should just put card scanners on the doors like they have downstairs — and opens it up slowly, trying to be quiet as she shuffles in.

 

The room inside is dark besides whatever light is managing to filter in through the thin blinds covering the two windows. 

 

_"Still sleeping then,"_ Oikawa thinks satisfactorily. Suga had taken her advice after all.

 

Her roommate has been sick. Coughing, sneezing, getting up in the middle of the night to take more cold medicine. Oikawa had had to practically beg Suga to stay in bed tonight and skip practice.

 

_"So stubborn."_

 

Oikawa sets her duffel bag down near the door and toes off her shoes before she tiptoes over to their beds. They’d rearranged them recently so that they’re stacked somewhat, Oikawa’s on the bottom and Suga’s hovering halfway over it with a ladder connecting them. Their desks are pushed underneath the empty space to the right of Oikawa’s bed and under Suga’s, giving them a little more floor space that Suga has decided to grace with an ugly, yellow rug.

 

Oikawa grabs hold of the ladder now and hoists herself up, peering over the edge into Suga’s tiny space. Suga doesn’t snore so it’s quiet, but Oikawa can just make out the glint of silver hair from underneath the covers and the small up and down motion of the blankets.

 

She smiles again and then climbs back down, stretching.

 

Now that that’s been settled… Oikawa grabs a change of clothes from the closet and shoves her duffel bag under her bed.

 

Time for that shower.

 

\----- 

 

Oikawa is showered and changed and has her stuff put away by the time the rain really starts.

 

She’s just finished microwaving some herbal tea out in the floor’s lounge and has kicked off her Adidas slides and gotten situated in the middle of her bed when there’s a ripple of thunder outside followed by a sharp flash of lightning and then the pitter patter of rain hitting the windows.

 

Leaning over to the window to the left of her bed — right above her head when she sleeps — Oikawa pushes one of the blindfold slats up to peer outside. A lock of damp hair sticks to the side of her cheek.

 

"Damn," she murmurs. It’s a deluge out there. Flashes of lightning illuminate swaying trees and roads already soaked with rainwater and it’s lashing down, beating down on the roofs and windows. Out on the distant horizon, Oikawa can just make out the smoky, bright haze of inner-city Tokyo but it’s nearly indistinguishable.

 

Oikawa always loves to stare at the city lights from here or up on the dorm roof — it draws her like a moth to a flame.

 

There’s the creak of a bed behind her and then a familiar voice fills the rain-soaked silence within the bubble of the room.

 

"April showers bring May flowers, isn’t that the saying?"

 

Dropping the slat, Oikawa twists back around, looking up. She sets her tea on the windowsill.

 

Suga sits in the middle of a nest of blankets and pillows, half-smiling as she looks down. Her long hair is loose and hanging around her shoulders and her cheeks look slightly pink but definitely a lot less flushed than before.

 

Oikawa swallows. "Hey," she says, hating it just a little bit that even like this — even when Suga has been sporting a runny nose and eyes bright with a cold for the last few days — she still manages to look effortlessly stunning.

 

Or maybe that’s just Oikawa. It certainly is _her_ heart doing that annoying little skip thing it does whenever Suga looks at her. Like a broken record.

 

"Hi," Suga answers, running a hand through her hair to push it back. The silver strands catch the dim light of Oikawa’s desk-lamp and shine, like they’re made of the rain outside. Her t-shirt is too big and it slips down a shoulder with the movement, baring a pale expanse of skin and a black bra strap. Oikawa looks back down at the notebook balanced in her lap, tapping a corner of it restlessly.

 

"How’re you feeling?" she gets out casually. She makes another mark on the page with her pen and then draws the line up, fleshing it out into a curve.

 

"Better," comes the reply and then there’s the sound of more shifting and suddenly a shadow is falling over the edge of Oikawa’s notebook. Her heart thumps again but she keeps sketching.

 

"I’m going to run to the bathroom, take a quick shower," Suga says and there’s a smile in her voice, Oikawa can hear it. She hums noncommittally in answer and after a moment, the shadow drifts away and there’s the sound of a few drawers opening and closing and then the door clicking shut.

 

As soon as it does, Oikawa drops her pen and notebook and flops sideways onto her bed, head resting on her pillow.

 

_"Damn it,"_ she thinks. 

 

When is she going to get used to this feeling?

 

When is she going to be able to look Suga in the eyes when they’re just talking? Another flash of lightning hits the sky outside and the white-hot color bleeds through the cracks in the blinds. Steam curls up, wispy and thin, from her cup of abandoned tea. Oikawa turns her head into her pillow and inhales deeply — the fabric smells like her shampoo and laundry detergent.

 

Ever since that night at that party about two months ago, the dynamic has changed. Obviously. 

 

Oikawa has gotten used to that. She’s used to crawling up into Suga’s bed after they’ve turned in for the night. She’s used to Suga crawling into her lap when she’s trying to study. She’s used to feeling soft lips against the back of her neck, used to the feel of the curve of Suga’s hips in her hands.

 

But that’s the thing. If it’s physical, Oikawa is okay. She’s comfortable and confident. She knows how to turn Suga into an incoherent mess. She knows how to do _those_ things.

 

And yet… when Suga wants to play with Oikawa’s hair, when she suggests ordering carryout and having a night in, when Oikawa walks in on Suga crying after a bad day — she freezes.

 

She gets tongue-tied. She drops things. She’s a fucking deer in headlights.

 

And it only makes things worse that neither of them have actually broached the subject about what _this_ is. Are they dating? God help her, Oikawa doesn’t know. 

 

She… wants to. She wants to date Suga. It had taken her a while to admit that to herself. And she’ll never say it out loud to anyone else, especially not when Iwaizumi is poking and prodding, but it’s easier now to swallow down the shiver of anxiety when Oikawa thinks about giving herself like that to someone again.

 

She still feels vulnerable. Sometimes she has to pause and take a break — she needs her distance so that she can stop feeling this urge to drop to her knees and curl into the smallest shape she can fold her body into, disappear somewhere no-one can reach her.

 

But Suga is… different.

 

Iwaizumi had been right. Suga is Suga, not anyone else. She’s been proving it over and over again.

 

And Oikawa isn’t so scared anymore. She’s letting herself fall, knowing full well the consequences if she finds herself hitting concrete at the end and doing it anyway.

 

But there is one, little hitch that still bothers her. A question that’s been eating at her — does Suga want this as much as she does?

 

Are they fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? Does Suga want something more permanent or is she okay with this?

 

Groaning, Oikawa rolls over onto her stomach. There’s a small clatter when what must be her pen rolls off the edge of the bed and hits the tiled floor but she doesn’t care.

 

This feels nice. She stretches her legs out and relishes in the faint ache from practice in her thighs. Her bed is warm and soft and the rain is a pleasant lullaby against the windows despite how strong the storm is. Oikawa’s always loved storms anyway.

 

Besides, she can finish her sketch later. It had just been a useless doodle to distract her from Suga’s pretty face.

 

Curling her arms under her head, Oikawa lets her tired body sink deeper into the mattress and closes her eyes. She’ll deal with her thoughts later. Maybe tomorrow morning when she runs out to grab coffee and breakfast for the two of them or when she’s alone in the bathroom again.

 

Her thoughts wander, staticky and blurred. Sleep inches closer.

 

The storm rages outside.

 

For a while there’s nothing but the rumble of thunder, the hush of rain, footsteps somewhere on the floor above them and the closer sound of the shower running in their bathroom. Oikawa thinks of everything but Suga — of practice and upcoming tests and whether they need to restock on herbal tea. She thinks of her to-do list — about getting her individual running time in by next Friday and sending her older brother those hiyoko cakes he’s been asking for and reorganizing her side of the bathroom. Her lipsticks are starting to look more like a collection with how many she has.

 

And sooner than later, Oikawa’s thoughts drift, breaking into pieces so that they’re more disjointed and incorporeal.

 

She falls asleep with the final image of Suga’s hair falling through her fingers like the shine of rain on dark roads.

 

\----- 

 

Oikawa wakes up with the shittiest timing and she automatically knows why.

 

Someone’s playing music a floor below, the bass thumping up through the ceiling. It doesn’t even sound like good music. Irritation wells up behind Oikawa’s heavy eyes as she cracks them open.

 

_"Fucking hell."_

 

But regardless of whoever’s ass she’s going to kick tomorrow, Oikawa is suddenly more aware of the fact that Suga is back from the shower and leaning over her, a hand outstretched as Oikawa blinks and stares up at her. She must’ve rolled over onto her back sometime during her nap.

 

She shifts and Suga’s eyes flick to her face, widening in surprise. She flushes.

 

"Oh sorry, did I wake you? I was just - you had um - this didn’t look very comfortable digging into your side like that," she stammers, holding up what at first Oikawa can’t make out until she realizes it’s her phone. Now that Suga’s mentioned it, she can feel a sore spot right above her hip where it must’ve been digging in.

 

"No," Oikawa mumbles, pushing up on her palms and blinking. Her tongue feels like cotton, a stale mix of cinnamon from her tea and sleep. And her eyes burn. Shit, she’d forgotten to take out her contacts.

 

Suga steps back a bit, setting Oikawa’s phone down on the floor beside her notebook and pen, which she also must’ve gathered. She smells like soap and her coconut shampoo and she’s in clean clothes, a pair of loose sweatpants and another large t-shirt. This one has a dorky, little shrimp doodled over the front in thick black lines and smudges of orange and pink.

 

Oikawa rubs her eyes, straightening out her own clothes quickly, suddenly very conscious of Suga’s presence as her body wakes up more. Her t-shirt has ridden up her back, cool air hitting exposed skin.

 

"Do you want to get dinner?" slips from her mouth before she can think clearly. 

 

All she knows is that she wants to break this silence that only the rain is filling. Besides, she’s not sure how long she had fallen asleep for, but her stomach feels pinched and empty. Food is a top priority.

 

Suga nods, tucking a strand of damp hair back behind an ear. 

 

_"It’s darker when it’s wet,"_ Oikawa finds herself thinking stupidly. _"Like storm clouds instead of quicksilver."_

 

"I’m starving," Suga speaks, breaking the silence again. She turns around to slip her bare feet into her dorm flip-flops and then grabs a jacket. "I can go get some sandwiches from the corner? Or cold noodles."

 

"Cold noodles," Oikawa automatically agrees, stomach rumbling. She stands up, struck by a sudden whim.

 

"I’ll go with you."

 

\----- 

 

The 7-Eleven at the end of the road is open late. It’s fluorescent lights flicker and buzz under the downpour like fireflies winking in and out as Oikawa and Suga run for shelter, huddled under one measly umbrella.

 

Oikawa’s feet are soaked. She knew she should’ve taken the time to find some socks and shove on an actual pair of running shoes instead of slipping her flip-flops back on. She regrets wearing her sleep shorts too. She’s splashed water all of the way up to her thighs. The rain is lukewarm though, mixing with the humid April air, so it’s not that bad.

 

Suga laughs, blowing out a breath of relief, as soon as they reach the small overhang and pause, catching their breath. She’s close enough that Oikawa can feel the warmth of her skin under her jacket and smell her shampoo again.

 

That stupid shrimp stares up from Suga’s shirt with beady, little eyes that look straight through into Oikawa’s soul.

 

"You could’ve waited back at the room," Suga says, breaking Oikawa’s stupid, childish urge to glare back at a cartoon drawing. "I owe you, remember?"

 

_"Owe me? For what?"_ Oikawa racks her brain, staring stupidly at her roommate. Suga’s hair is still wet, curling at her shoulders. It’s still that lovely shade of storm gray.

 

Suga smiles, most likely at Oikawa’s dumbstruck expression, and brushes rainwater off of her nylon jacket. 

 

"For buying me all of those cough drops? And the cough medicine? And the tissues, pain medicine, heating pad, soup, and tea? You brought the entire pharmacy home. Not to mention you didn’t allow me to overwork myself and I know you checked on me in the middle of the night a few times."

 

Oikawa’s face is bright red. She can feel it. And her stomach… her stomach just did this weird, swoop-y thing when Suga said "home".

 

She rubs the back of her neck, looking away out into the rain to avoid looking Suga straight in the face. There’s that damned smile again, hovering just there at the corners of Suga’s mouth.

 

"It was nothing," Oikawa mumbles, cheeks flushing hotter. "I’m just glad you’re feeling better. It was no fun having no competition at practice."

 

"Aww," Suga teases and then there’s a hand on Oikawa’s arm, fingers warm through the thin, long-sleeved t-shirt Oikawa had pulled on. "You think of me as competition?"

 

Oikawa looks back down at Suga and smirks. She flicks her in the middle of her forehead and watches the slow, cat’s-eye blink the other girl does. "Of course, Suga-chan. You’ve learned from the best, after all."

 

The rain increases, spattering them when the wind blows a little more strongly, and Suga rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Oh have I? I think you’re forgetting that our _coach_ does a lot of the teaching, not you."

 

Oikawa shrugs. Her shoulders are relaxing despite Suga’s fingers still lingering there. Talking like this, bantering, is easy.

 

Right up until Suga says the next thing, her eyes glittering and her lips curving up, up, up into the smile of a minx.

 

"You’ve taught me a few other things, though, I’ll give you that. Off the court, I mean."

 

The heat and weight of her fingers right above Oikawa’s elbow increases tenfold. Suddenly Oikawa wishes she had just stayed back at the dorm. It’d be better than what she’s doing now, flushing white-hot and unable to respond.

 

Suga laughs softly.

 

"Come on," she says before Oikawa can get over her tongue-tied stupor. "Let’s grab dinner before one of us gets sick again from this rain."

 

She turns to walk down to the automatic glass doors… and Oikawa grabs her hand.

 

Now’s the perfect time. Now’s the moment when Oikawa spits out the words that’ve been burning on her tongue for a while now. Now’s when she needs to ask.

 

Suga is paused, surprised, half-turned back towards Oikawa. Her hair blows in the wind, silver turning to star-fire in the lights of the 7-Eleven. Her shrimp shirt is wrinkled and her sweatpants look soft and worn. There’s a black hairband around her other wrist and her black nail polish is chipping.

 

Oikawa has never seen anything more beautiful.

 

But her brain doesn’t match up with her heart and she drops Suga’s wrist, losing courage. 

 

As if from a distance, she hears herself speak… but they’re not the words she wanted to say and her voice is a lazy drawl, a shield thrown up over her real feelings.

 

"There’s more where that came from, Suga-chan. I’m always up for a little… off-the-court practice."

 

She feels herself moving, like her body is on strings she doesn’t control — tied to her wrists, her knees, pushing her forward until she has Suga crowded back against the brick wall in the shadows. Raising her right hand so that she’s barely brushing Suga’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. 

 

And Suga is wide-eyed. It’s her turn to be speechless, probably at the tone of Oikawa’s voice — low and dark and full of promises.

 

Oikawa is mad at herself. But after all, this is what she’s good at and she can’t resist leaning down, waiting for Suga to say something or stop her.

 

And when she doesn’t Oikawa doesn’t hesitate to close the distance. They haven’t kissed since Suga had gotten sick — haven’t done anything since Suga came down with her cold — and Oikawa’s missed this.

 

She’s missed the taste of Suga’s strawberry chapstick. She’s missed the softness of her lips and the heat of her mouth. She’s missed that little, perfect noise Suga makes when Oikawa kisses her just like this, moving their mouths together slow and deep. 

 

Suga’s fingers curl like clockwork into Oikawa’s hair, keeping her close while she pushes in, reciprocating. Oikawa’s hands find the curve of her waist, the slope of her back, moving up and down over ribs and then her spine and then her hips, edging under rumpled fabric until she feels smooth, hot skin.

 

Suga pulls back too soon.

 

She licks her lips and Oikawa nearly despises how that makes her feel. Like a bat’s been taken to her stomach.

 

"We should grab the noodles," Suga half-whispers. She’s not smiling now. The look in her eyes actually has Oikawa’s stomach flipping because she can’t read it.

 

She can’t read it and that only happens when Suga is keeping a secret. Like that night Oikawa had walked in on her crying. 

 

Two days —- that’s how long it had taken before Suga had told her why. Two days before Suga had told her about her failed exam, an injury sustained from practice, and a fight with a close friend, all wrapped up into the same, shitty day.

 

Oikawa can’t read her right now and it makes her fingers feel cold.

 

But all she says is, "Yeah," and she lets go.

 

\----- 

 

The plastic wrap around the carton of cold noodles is annoyingly hard to get off.

 

Oikawa sits cross-legged on the ugly, yellow rug in their dorm, struggling. Suga is across from her, doing the same.

 

"God, it’s like they think the food’s going to jump up and run away," she mutters under her breath, fingernails digging into cellophane and then releasing it again.

 

Oikawa laughs quietly. She’s right though. It’s impossible.

 

Until Oikawa gets the bright idea to grab her dorm key and slice through the wrapping. She hands it over to Suga when she’s done and soon the two of them are tearing open the tiny packets of pepper and sesame sauce to squeeze over the whole thing and mix.

 

Oikawa sighs at the first bite. This is what she’s needed all day. This is what she’s been craving all week. 

 

Suga has a similar expression on her face when Oikawa glances up. There’s also a bit of sauce at the corner of her mouth but Oikawa looks back down, focusing again on the thick, chewy noodles and chicken to avoid staring at Suga’s lips.

 

It’s bothering her. That look.

 

She’s seen a lot of different expressions on Suga’s face since meeting her — happiness, excitement, anger, need, uncertainty, and that smug smile. The one that still drives Oikawa crazy no matter how many times she’s gotten rid of it with a word, a touch.

 

But this look, the one she had glimpsed outside of the corner store… she’s rarely seen that and so far, it’s never meant something good.

 

What if Suga is regretting this? What if she’s not as into Oikawa as she’s seemed to be?

 

What if all of this is just a passing fling to her and she had never expected it to go anywhere?

 

Oikawa takes another bite, swallowing past the knot in her throat.

 

She realizes she’s almost waiting for Iwaizumi’s voice to enter her head — that practical, down-to-earth, usually annoyed growl that tells her what to do.

 

But there’s nothing. Nothing but the rain on the windows and the light music Suga’s put on and the sounds of their plastic forks against plastic containers.

 

Plastic. What if that’s what this thing between them is? Plastic and fake and so, so easy to snap in two.

 

_"God, stop being so morbid,"_ Oikawa chides herself. _"You always jump to the worst conclusions. Sugawara is the farthest thing from 'plastic'."_

 

Oikawa sighs around a mouthful of noodles and then swallows. The sesame sauce sticks to the roof of her mouth.

 

Suga glances up at the noise, fork halfway to her mouth. She does look better, Oikawa notices, feeling her chest swell with pride a little. Her nose isn’t red anymore and she’s got more color in her face.

 

"Is your food okay?" the other girl asks, glancing down at Oikawa’s bowl.

 

"Yeah, it’s good. Thank you."

 

Oikawa answers automatically, thinking also of the pack of milk bread Suga had surreptitiously slid into her hand on the way out of the 7-Eleven. Oikawa hadn’t even noticed the other girl pick it up, too busy deciding between flavors of cold noodles, and when she’d protested outside, Suga had only shaken her head and smiled.

 

_"The entire pharmacy, remember?"_ she’d said — and Oikawa had let the topic drop, something warm unfurling right under her ribcage.

 

"You’re welcome, Oikawa," Suga says and then it’s silent, the two of them finishing dinner.

 

Oikawa lets the silence wash over her the way the pattering of the rain does. It’s comfortable even if Oikawa is still worrying, somewhere in the back of her head, about when she’s going to muster up the nerve to seriously speak to Suga. But she files it away for right now and focuses on smaller things.

 

Like how Suga is sitting close enough that their knees brush. How she doesn’t hesitate to add more and more chili paste to her noodles despite the menacing chili flakes Oikawa can see in it. How she keeps glancing up at Oikawa from time to time, like they’re trying to see who can sneak the most looks at each other.

 

Finally, Oikawa can’t take it anymore. Suga definitely has something on her mind.

 

"Is your food okay?" she asks casually, finishing off the last bit of her own and setting the plastic bowl to the side, away from the ugly, yellow rug. Her hands tingle with nerves. She glances over at her unmade bed and almost wishes she could crawl into it right now and disappear under the heavy comforter.

 

_"No, you don’t,"_ her conscious berates her. _"You want to figure this out. So figure it out."_

 

"Mmhm," Suga answers… but Oikawa can sense there’s something more she’s waiting to say so she stays quiet and takes a sip of her chilled cup coffee. Probably not the best drink to have this late at night but Oikawa’s dead on her feet after classes and practice and she’d given in to temptation.

 

It’s quiet a moment longer and Oikawa studies the wide range of things the two of them have put up around the room, waiting patiently for Suga to say more — sometimes it takes her time to voice her worries out loud, and Oikawa is okay with that. 

 

She studies the walls, giving Suga some space to decide. There’re Oikawa’s own various sketches put up, mostly of people around campus. And Suga’s strings of polaroids, featuring mutual friends and people Oikawa doesn’t know, places she’s never been to. They also have a few cacti on the second windowsill — the only plant both of them can successfully keep alive it turns out.

 

The silence builds and builds and builds. It’s a tangible thing in the small space. It feels like it’s sitting on Oikawa’s shoulders or pushing her down through the tiled floor.

 

_"Maybe you should just go for it,"_ she thinks, taking another drink from her can. The coffee slithers down the back of her throat, oily even though it had tasted fine before. Oikawa sets it down.

 

She taps her fingers on her knee, watching the shine of her red nails against bare skin. Looking at the stretch of a faint red scar there, from surgery.

 

When she looks back up, Suga is done eating. She’s looking at Oikawa over the rim of her chai tea can, studying her face right up until they make eye contact and then she looks away. A light flush dusts the tops of her cheeks.

 

"Does it hurt?"

 

Oikawa blinks at the question. Then it registers. "Oh," she says. "No. Well, sometimes. On nights like this, mostly."

 

She bites her tongue, rubbing her arm. She doesn’t usually talk about her knee. She feels like that deer again — caught in headlights. Somehow Suga’s turned the conversation around.

 

But Suga nods slowly. She sets her can down. And then she reaches out — cautiously, tentatively, her eyes asking Oikawa for permission.

 

And Oikawa lets her. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until Suga’s cool fingertips touch her skin, trace the curve of the scar that stretches all of the way over Oikawa’s knee.

 

"I’m sorry."

 

Oikawa laughs but it comes out choked. "There’s nothing to apologize for, Suga-chan. It’s over now." Her voice is all wrong too — not nonchalant the way it should be. Bitter, though, it’s definitely that. Sad maybe.

 

And when Suga looks up, Oikawa can see it reflected in her eyes. Not pity. Oikawa wouldn’t have been able to stomach that.

 

No, Suga is looking at her like she understands. Like she knows what it had felt like all of those hours in that hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with her brain slowed and dulled by pain medicine.

 

While she wondered if she’d ever play volleyball again.

 

Oikawa moves first. She knows that, on some level above the haze in her head and the heat suddenly consuming her from the inside out.

 

She has Suga’s face in her hands and she’s up on her knees now, Suga’s fingers gone. 

 

And Oikawa kisses her like it’s the key to fixing every problem in the entire world.

 

She kisses her and Suga kisses back like she had been expecting it. She has her hands at Oikawa’s waist, cool through Oikawa’s shirt. She tastes like sesame sauce and chili paste and no matter if they’ve kissed a million times before, Oikawa’s head still spins and her stomach still dips when Suga kisses her like this.

 

She’s soft and warm and when Oikawa leans forward, Suga complies, letting Oikawa push her down onto the rug and straddle her hips without breaking apart. Her knee twinges just the barest bit at the movement, but Oikawa ignores it.

 

"Oikawa." Suga breathes her name against her, low, and Oikawa shivers. All she can feel is desire, burning thick and heavy in her stomach. All she wants is Suga and she wants her now, everything else a distant thought.

 

Slipping her tongue into Suga’s mouth, Oikawa pushes down, moaning at the feel of Suga’s hands in her hair, tugging. Suga notices and pulls harder and Oikawa can’t catch her breath. She bites Suga’s lip in retaliation for that, swallows the mewl Suga gives her in return. The rain and the music still playing from over on the desks isn’t loud enough to hide it and Oikawa does it again, tugging at Suga’s lower lip with her teeth until the other girl moans, loud and clear.

 

That sound and the slick side of Suga’s full mouth against hers is dizzying. And some things are so familiar — the heat of Suga’s skin, the pressure of her mouth and the darkness of her eyes — but there’re things that still take Oikawa by surprise. Like the way Suga’s sighs and moans set Oikawa’s blood on fire so quickly. Or the way her hands burn wherever they touch Oikawa’s bare skin.

 

They keep kissing, even when Oikawa slips her own hands up under Suga’s thin t-shirt and the other girl gasps against her. Oikawa’s fingers map out familiar lines and curves, her palms sliding up over Suga’s sides until she feels the rough lace of her bra.

 

Suga’s stomach contracts beneath her, her mouth more fervent now, and Oikawa is half-drunk off of just this already — the silkiness of Suga’s skin beneath her fingertips, the weight of her legs wrapped around Oikawa’s waist, the hot, wet feel of the inside of her mouth.

 

She slips the fingers of one hand up and under Suga’s bra, cupping her soft breast in her hand and swiping her thumb up and over her nipple, and Suga shudders once under her, legs tightening around Oikawa. Oikawa does it again, kissing her harder, and her stomach tightens at the little whine that bubbles up Suga’s throat, the little jerk her hips give up against Oikawa’s.

 

Oikawa can’t think past this. All she knows is Suga. All she sees is the other girl under her, framed by yellow and lit up in the dim glow of the desk lamp, silver hair splayed out around her head. All she hears is Suga’s voice.

 

Breaking away from Suga’s mouth, Oikawa loses herself in kissing down the other girl’s throat — inhaling the sweet smell of her soap, listening to her groan when Oikawa hits that spot she knows is sensitive at the side of her neck. She sucks hard at Suga’s skin and pinches, tweaks at her hardening nipple simultaneously until Suga’s breathing harder, making more noises.

 

Suga’s hands tighten in Oikawa’s hair in response, keeping her head in place, so Oikawa sucks harder, biting down a moment later to leave a mark over the old ones. Suga jerks again and Oikawa licks over the spot apologetically, but she doesn’t linger. She’s kissing down farther, tugging at the collar of Suga’s shirt to kiss over her collarbones, and her hands are back down at the hem to push the fabric up.

 

Suga helps her quickly, letting go of Oikawa to raise her arms and shift so Oikawa can slip the t-shirt up and off over her head until Suga is lying there in sweatpants that lie low on her hips and a simple black bra with lace scalloping. 

 

Oikawa stops. She swallows past the knot in her throat, blinks past the heated haze covering every inch of her, breathing hard. Her pulse is a roar in her ears.

 

And she usually refrains from speaking her mind most of the time, but she can’t, not this time. She can’t.

 

"You’re beautiful," she breathes, sitting upright now and reaching down to run a hand over Suga’s stomach, fingertips trailing over her skin lightly. Suga bites her lower lip, staring up at her, but doesn’t speak. She’s flushed, her eyes are dark in her pale face, and there’s no smile right now. 

 

No smug, knowing smile. No teasing. No witty comeback.

 

She just looks at Oikawa with her hair spread around her like rain and her chest falling up and down with deep breaths and that blush trailing down her neck to the wings of her collarbones. Oikawa knows she must look the same. She can feel the heat in her face, can feel it running all over her body. She can’t seem to get her breath back either.

 

But she finds her voice.

 

"Date me."

 

The words hover in the humid, heavy air. Oikawa doesn’t really believe she’s said them out loud until a few seconds pass and they’re still there, echoing in her ears.

 

Suga blinks up at her, mouth slightly parted, surprise evident all over her face and for a moment, Oikawa’s heart drops.

 

_"This is it,"_ she thinks. _"The moment of truth."_

 

Her tongue is too dry. It’s too hard to swallow.

 

"Oikawa," Suga starts and Oikawa gets off of her, sitting back down on the rug and watching Suga sit up, shivering.

 

"I’m sorry," Oikawa cuts in. She feels stupid and it has her flushing for different reasons than before. Why had she let herself get carried away so quickly? 

 

Just because Suga is sympathetic, just because she had seemed to understand Oikawa’s pain, doesn’t mean she wants anything more than this. Anything more than what they have right now. It doesn’t mean -

 

"Oikawa, wait. Please."

 

Oikawa eyes flash up quickly to Suga’s face. The other girl is worrying at her bottom lip, arms crossed over her chest, but when Oikawa looks at her, Suga’s expression softens. Her beauty mark looks blurred in this light, smudged at the edges. There’s a red mark blooming along the side of her neck.

 

She looks as vulnerable as Oikawa feels… especially when she speaks next.

 

"I want to."

 

Oikawa stares. Her throat still feels too dry. She doesn’t understand -

 

"I want to date you," Suga half-laughs, shaking her head. "I could see you overthinking just now, you know? But you didn’t even give me the chance to speak."

 

Suga wants to date her. _"Suga wants to date me,"_ Oikawa thinks stupidly. And then it sinks in.

 

Her heart-rate picks back up, thumping in her chest. Her face is hot all over again. She’s lost for words but Suga just laughs again, smiling that smile Oikawa’s realized she’s grown to search for in crowds.

 

"I’ve been meaning to ask," she continues sheepishly, smile dropping a bit. "I just - I didn’t think - I didn’t know - I mean, I really, really like you and I like what we have and I didn’t know if you thought the same - God, I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I -"

 

Oikawa crawls back towards Suga, so relieved she wants to run or jump or something. Her heart crashes in her ears, blocking out the rain, the music. All of her worrying has winked out of existence and she feels so much lighter and she didn’t know it could feel like this. She’s never known it could all feel like this.

 

"Idiot," she breathes, pulling Suga towards her. "We’re both idiots."

 

"Yeah," Suga whispers back, smiling again, and when she kisses Oikawa, Oikawa listens to the storm and focuses on nothing else but her girlfriend in front of her… letting go and holding close at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this, so if anyone wants a third part I'd be more than willing to continue it! Just lmk what you guys would like best... a direct continuation of this chapter or another look at their relationship later on!
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading and comments are always appreciated ♥︎
> 
> Blog --> [｡◕‿◕｡](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/)


End file.
